Page 77 of Isabel and the Rogue

Isabel wrapped her arms around his waist, cocooning him in her embrace. “What happened?”

Sirius took a moment to form the words. He’d only spoken of the events after he’d awoken in the hospital days after he was shot. His tale had been promptly told to senior officials, and they latched on to it as the perfect propaganda ploy. The young, handsome son of an earl almost lost his life saving his men, when he was really the reason so many lives were lost.

“We’d received intelligence that the enemy would be redirecting their supply wagons to avoid the barricades and checkpoint we had erected across a narrow portion of land we had managed to take from the Russians.” His chuckle was humorless. “As you can imagine, we were determined to hold our line and not let the enemy slip past our defenses. Our pride depended upon it.”

Sirius covered his face with his hand, unease heavy and thick in his lungs. “Except I learned from my senior officer that the generals were switching tactics, and their priority had become the western line. My company was the only one they were leaving in place to defend the swatch of land we had won.”

“They expected your company to hold the line on your own?” she asked, her voice rising an octave.

“They did. The western front was under constant bombardment from enemy forces, so additional support was needed. The tract of land we maintained had remained relatively calm, but only because the military had assigned so many companies to defend it. But they underestimated the people who lived in the region and used this specific area as a trading route. It was a vital thoroughfare for many of the Russians and Tatars, and when we cut off their free access to traverse it, we earned ourselves dangerous enemies. And suddenly we no longer had the troops to withstand an assault.”

“Ay no,” she breathed. “Did they attack?”

He pressed his lips together for a moment, willing them not to tremble. “They caught us completely unawares.”

Her arms around his waist tightened.

“I tried to set up a defensive line on the outer flank, and a runner escaped with a missive asking for help, but I was shot before the real fighting had even started.” Sirius closed his eyes, clouded memories of that day flashing behind his eyelids. “I don’t remember anything else. I awoke in a field hospital several days later.”

Isabel’s hand touched the puckered flesh on the right side of his stomach. “I may never have met you.”

The thought of never having known Isabel made his whole body tingle with thankfulness, and he kissed her brow.

“I was very lucky, but so many of my men were not.” The words were like glass on his tongue, but he forced himself to continue. Isabel deserved to know what happened. She needed to know the awful legacy he carried with him. “All but five of the men in my company were killed, yet they were able to hold the line until reinforcements arrived. They were the true heroes, but it was I who received all the fanfare when I returned to London.”

“Sirius, it’s not your fault you were shot—” Isabel began.

“But I wasn’t there to help—” His voice broke.

“You were the one who was shrewd enough to order the men into that formation. They were trained and prepared to defend the position because of your leadership.” Isabel rubbed his chest. “You made sure a runner went for help as soon as possible, and—”

“I could have done more. I should have done more. I should have been more assertive with my senior officers.” Sirius wrenched a hand through his hair. “I should have demanded reinforcements beforehand. Instead I was used to deflect negative commentary on the war. I was given honors and medals I did not earn. I failed my men.”

Once again, everything he touched fell apart. His mother died giving birth to him, and his father blamed him for it. His older brother had wanted no relationship with him, and had rebuffed every attempt Sirius had ever made to forge a connection with him. His work with the Home Office had been perfect for him, for it allowed him to keep every relationship he engaged in superficial. With the exception of his friendships with the Duke of Whitfield and Gideon Fox, every aspect of his life was shallow and empty.

Until Isabel.

Her hand swept over his cheek now, her dark eyes glinting in the dim light. “And yet you employ your men.”

He held his silence.

“You allow them to live at Dancourt Abbey.”

Sirius nodded.

Isabel seemed to ponder this for a moment, her expression considering. “And I suspect you pay yearly stipends to the families of the men who were killed.”

Sirius jerked his head up. “How do you know that?”

“My tío Arturo told us.” Her fingertips traced along his cheekbone to his nose, and she dragged her finger down to the tip. “Back when we stayed at Dancourt Abbey. He wrote and assured us you were an honorable man who would do his best to keep us safe.”

“And Earl Tyrell was able to abscond with your sister from right under my nose,” he replied with an angry growl.

Isabel silenced him with a finger to his mouth. “You helped Gideon rescue her. You organized the entire effort. Gideon said he will forever be grateful to you for taking charge when he was too overcome to do it himself.”

Sirius didn’t know how she could say that. How she could have so much faith in him when he had so little in himself.

He worked to clear his throat. “Thank you,” he said simply.